


Smiles and Tears

by AngyValentine



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, ready for more runs on FLUFF TRAIIIIIN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:32:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17513747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngyValentine/pseuds/AngyValentine
Summary: “Mages are not people like you and me”And yet, he fell in love with a mage.Fell absurdly hard.For an elf mage.Despite how much he tried to hide his feelings for her, knowing how much she feared Templars when they got to know each other for the first time. Despite the fact that, among people, she was like a holy figure – the holy Herald of Andraste. Despite the fact that she was the Inquisitor, his superior.Despite the fact that she was amage.





	Smiles and Tears

He didn’t deserve _this_.  
Just the idea at very first, sounded so strange. Absurd and incredible, to him.  
He had sworn, in his youth, to serve the Order even with his life. He wanted to help, to defend. Against the rules, he even fraternized with the mages in the Circle. Some of them were even younger than him, and he was so used in acting as a big brother – with limits, of course. He couldn’t allow himself to step too much out of the borders. Still, with that young lady, Mileen Surana… he couldn’t avoid to blush every time he met her.  
You can’t, Cullen, she’s one of your initiates.  
Theirs was a shy friendship.  
But then Surana died, during the fall of the Circle.  
Endless days of torture, physical and psychological ones. Until the Hero of Ferelden, Lady Cousland – now Queen, beside King Alistair Theirin -, came and killed Uldred. An end of that nightmare – or so he thought. It was just the start of a longer one, an endless starless night that lasted for almost 10 years.  
   
That between him and Surana might had been a simple friendship, but still – he didn’t allow himself to fall for anyone, anymore.  
For all that time.  
Prisoner of his demons, paranoia and fears, constantly on guard, the poison in his veins chained him to itself. He barely paid any attention to his comrades and their frequent visits to the Blooming Rose – many of them were okay that yeah, sex may had been a great stress-releaser. But not him.  
He poured all of himself in work. With his own limits. Believing he was doing the right thing.  
  
_“Mages are not people like you and me”_  
  
Thinking again to what he said, he just wanted to throw up.  
Then again, another tragedy – that mage terrorist, Ander, blew up the whole Chantry.  
Kirkwall fell into chaos.  
And he finally opened his eyes – realizing how crazy Meredith really was. Victim of her own fears and paranoia – but he wasn’t like her, not then, nor ever.  
Again, he tried to do the right thing. To do what, in his mind, was his duty. To protect and help others – back then, all the victims of the rebellion.  
  
_“Mages are not people like you and me”_  
  
He slowly raised his gaze, finding the person he was looking for at the other side of the room.  
And he could feel tears gathering in his eyes.  
Shirael couldn’t see him, concentrated on her own reflex in the little mirror on the vanity table (a very simple one, Josephine knew her tastes quite enough to know she would have never appreciate a luxury Orlesian one), complaining between her teeth about how her hair was unruly. He couldn’t hear her voice, but her hands spoke for her, nervously working to untangle a particular knot. She was already in her nightclothes, a soft night-gown wrapped on her petite figure, her feet hidden under her own crossed legs to be kept warm. He could quite swear to see her pointed ears vibrating, the skin a little reddened for the nerves.  
  
_“Mages are not people like you and me”_  
  
And yet, he fell in love with a _mage_.  
Fell absurdly hard.  
For an elf mage.  
Despite how much he tried to hide his feelings for her, knowing how much she feared Templars when they got to know each other for the first time. Despite the fact that, among people, she was like a holy figure – the holy Herald of Andraste. Despite the fact that she was the Inquisitor, his _superior_.  
Despite the fact that she was a mage.  
Since the very beginning of their relationship, Shirael always has been cautious about her magic, and its use around him. Always so careful to ask him first if it was okay with him for her to use her power to heal his pains. Always letting him to be the one to take her hands first, allowing her to touch him. He could feel her magic vibrating from her body, directly to his veins – yet it was like a gentle wave, warm, soothing. Like the caresses she often gave him.  
Despite the pain in his chest, Cullen couldn’t help himself – a tiny smile raised the corner of his lips, his eyes fixed on the woman he _loved_. Trying to avoid being caught, he rested against the cold railing, the marble hard on his back, and crossed the arms on his chest. With a cough, he could have made her aware of his presence, offer to help her – but he knew how much she was jealous of her own hair. No one ( ~~beside himself~~ ) was allowed to touch it. The rest of it was resting on her back, waves of long light ash blonde locks, almost hip length. Always styled in complex braids, to made her look more mature – because yes, her features were way too sweet. Like really – he thought to himself – without any make up or complicate hairstyle, she looked way younger and innocent, people’d have difficulties believing that the tiny elf in front of him was, indeed, one of the most powerful women in the whole Thedas. Politically speaking, as well for her magic.  
_“_ _She has to protect. Fiery and untameable like a storm. She can’t fall, because she wants to protect._ ”, Cole told him once. Cassandra’s reports confirmed his words.  
Still, it was hard to believe that those hands, always soft and gentle with him, could release such a deadly power. He couldn’t see it in her – a hidden danger to be aware of. Maybe love blinded him.  
For a moment, he found her nerves almost amusing. A natural attitude, not the calm mask she always wear when she was the Inquisitor. Shirael, in front of him, was a simple woman.  
A woman quite angry with her own hair.  
He knew how that hair felt between his fingers. He often caressed it when they laid together in bed – especially after they made love. When she was taking breath on his chest, her arm lazily across his torso, her fingers brushing slowly on his side. She let him play with her hair, almost purring like a cat – but after all, she played with his own as well. Once she told him she really loves his natural curly hair – “ _it makes you look like those winged figures in human chantries_.”  
   
An involuntary chuckle betrayed him. Shirael stopped, the brush still tangled in her hair, and turned toward him.  
Sparkling.  
There was no other definition for him to define her eyes – how big they became, revealing the joy she felt seeing him there, like a child ready to open tons of Satinalia presents - as if he'd be a gift from the fate for her.  
Joy to see him – he thought no one, beside his family, could have been so happy to see him.  
Not even bothering to remove the brush, Shirael raised from the chair to walk toward him – and Cullen left his spot on the railing to reach for her, increasing his speed as soon as he saw her limping. He lifted her bridal-style, making her giggling, to make her sit on the bed.  
“Sorry.” She said, smiling “I sat for too long with crossed legs”  
“I know.” He replied, reaching for the brush and gently trying to untangle it from her hair “I’ve watched you for a while.”  
He quickly hushed any complain with a kiss, a smile on his lips while he felt her hands – first clenched in fists, as if she was restraining herself from hitting his head – slowly sliding on his shoulders, under the fur of his mantle. For a moment, he was glad not wearing his armour, previously removed – he could enjoy the warmth of her skin on his without the metallic protection.  
With a quick kiss on his nose, Shirael crawled toward the centre of their bed, before half-turning with her back toward him.  
“Mind helping me?” she asked, showing him the knotted hair “Please?”  
He simply smiled, removing his boots to reach and sit behind her. Slowly, Shirael lied down to rest on his shoulder, while Cullen kept working keeping her hair in front of them. He worked in silence, smiling when feeling Shirael leaving pecks on his jaw.  
As soon as his work was done, Shirael gently took the brush from his hand, tossing it on the mattress to turn toward him. Cullen crossed his legs, letting her sitting between them – a position not at all so uncommon for them, intimate enough even when they weren’t making love. He felt her arms hugging his torso, her face pressed against his neck.  
A comforting silence fell between them, hugged to each other, as if there was no need for them to give voice to what they felt to each other. It was all clearly written in their hands, in those palms that brushed to the other’s back, in their calm breaths, in those steady, yet gentle heartbeats.  
   
He didn’t deserve _this_.  
After Surana, the fell of the Circle, Kirkwall, the lyrium withdrawal – all of that seemed so unreal to him.  
Cullen hugged her tightly, letting a tremble sigh escape from his lips.  
“Is there something wrong, Cullen…?”  
He kept a hand behind her head, preventing her from seeing his face. The worry already clear in her voice.  
“Nothing, love.” He murmured, fighting to keep back the tears “Sometimes I feel like you’re unreal. A – for once – nice dream I don’t want to wake up from.”  
“I can pinch your bum, if it’d prove you’re perfectly awake.” She joked, but he felt that, like he did before, her grip was stronger as well – as if she wanted to melt with his body “But I’m real. I’m here with you. And I’ll be for as long as you’ll have me.”  
“This is something _I_ should say.” He retorted with a smile. Just to being rewarded with a smooch on his chin.  
“Fine for me. But I hope you’re ready to deal with me until I’ll be on my deathbed.”  
“Oh no, not until then.”  
He chuckled, seeing her half-scandalized expression.  
“Not until then, love. Consider it a promise until… better times. It’s forever. And even after.”

**Author's Note:**

> Another random short run on the fluff train. Still, I'm not so used in writing OS in English - drawing them is what I quite prefer ;9 If ya wants to follow me, this is my [Tumblr profile](http://angyvalentine.tumblr.com/) :D


End file.
